


Return Of Pace

by emaierose



Series: Falling Into Place [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: After Maria's death, Apple of Eden, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24626128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emaierose/pseuds/emaierose
Summary: With the Apple safe Altaïr lost his loved ones.
Relationships: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad & Desmond Miles, Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad/Desmond Miles
Series: Falling Into Place [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1780489
Comments: 19
Kudos: 105





	Return Of Pace

‘Darim left just a while ago. Before he took his things and sailed to France, he placed his hand on my shoulder and bade me good wishes for my health, his face worn down by wrinkles due to his age and worries for my well being. I stared into his eyes and saw Maria, my love. Now I am alone in this empty house, I have driven away my family and lost my wife and youngest son, only because I protected the Apple from Abbas. The assassins are controlled by him, their minds swayed to his words of power, when in truth his ignorance will only lead them to chaos. They are still looking for me. I hid the artifact, and it will remain there for all eternity.’

Altaïr put the medicine in his mouth, he grabbed the bowl of water and swallowed it down to his throat. He noticed more wrinkles had grown on his hands, and no doubt there would be some on his face as well, but it never bothered him and it won’t start now. What he was not fond of was the slowly weakening of his strength, he could no longer carry a pale of water without his knees and back aching.

Even when he was alone, he did the chores all by himself. Everyday he would get up and start his usual routine, any thought regarding the apple or the assassins were pushed at the deepest corner of his mind, or else he would once more drown in the darkness of his failure. It was the same thing day after day, it bore the former master assassin yet he refused to think about his past. However one night, a vision came into his dream, and he woke up with sweat clinging onto his skin and his whole body shaking in shock.

‘It has been a year since I last wrote in this book. I have thought it would be of no use to put my life on paper any more, when I know the story of my life has ended with Maria. However the Apple appeared in my dream last night, it showed me visions of what the assassin will become in the future, if Abbas is still the master.’

It showed him of Masyaf, the village drenched in fear of the assassins, and none of his brothers followed the creed any more. They became murderers with no morals. If Malik was still alive, he would no doubt be angry at Altaïr, his words would be harsh but his deceased brother always believed in him to do what was right.

‘When I took the Apple from where I hid it a year ago, it was glowing as if happy to see me. I brought it home, and it showed me another vision. It only lasted for a few seconds, but the name remained in my mind. A man called Desmond Miles.’

Altaïr sat on his bed, the Apple glowing on his hands. His mind was calm as well was the beating of his heart, and he closed his eyes and felt his body changing, everything was different. This was not his body, and this was not his voice coming out of his mouth. It was a different language, and Altaïr could not understand. The man was alone, white walls and ceilings surrounded him. Someone came inside through the door that opened itself, his body language screamed of a higher status and if Altaïr would activate eagle vision, no doubt he would be red. He wondered if it was possible to use it, and he shifted his vision into blues and white, and he saw blood written everywhere.

‘Desmond Miles won’t exist until in the far future, he is born into the assassin order like me, with the same features as mine, even the scar. He ran away from a place called the Farm when he turned sixteen, and he used his skills to survive on his own. On age twenty-five, he was taken by the templars, and he was forced to lay down on a table called the animus to relive the memory of his ancestor.’

The memory was still fresh in his mind, and so was the feeling of dread.

‘It was a strange experience, I felt the needle pierced through Desmond’s neck, and the world around him changed into a wide place. I felt horror rose inside me when Desmond lifted his hands to see them, and I saw my hidden blade, and the environment shifted into Masyaf. The shock was too much I threw the apple to the wall, and it rolled under the bed. It is still under there, and it will stay there until my mind is calm enough to handle this sorcery again.’

Altaïr had seen strange things from the Apple, and no matter how odd it was he would always look for an answer. Once his mind was clear, the former assassin took the artifact from under his bed, and it started glowing again in his palms. He sat on the mattress and took a deep breath, then he closed his eyes and felt it shaking, but Altaïr remained calm as everything changed around him. There was one thing to explain about Desmond, he was interesting. Although he could not understand the words coming out of his mouth, he knew what the man was feeling, due to Altaïr sharing his body.

‘I didn’t touch the Apple until a week later, where my mind was finally calm enough to try again. I will not risk of using the apple when my thoughts are in disarray, as it easily controls those with weak minds. It is safer to be cautious, just as Malik told me. When Desmond laid on the table, and the world changed as well his body into mine, I remained still and watched.’

Altaïr observed the man, he saw his life being played out through Desmond’s perspective, and his thoughts were often mixed between his kidnappers and his plan to escape. Desmond got out of Abstergo, and once again he laid on the animus to relive his other ancestor, Ezio Auditore. Three months passed, for Altaïr and Desmond, yet he never grew bored watching him.

‘My descendant finally acquired the key to the Temple, and if I was there with him, I would tell him how proud I was. Desmond may never know it, but he kept me company. As I watched him, he also gave me distraction from my loneliness. We never spoke but I can hear his thoughts, and I felt his sadness and happiness. He changed me, I no longer feel deep regret whenever I think about the past, and I wish there was some way to thank him.’

When Desmond placed his hand on the pedestal, an intense pain erupted on his arm and traveled all through the rest of his body. The smell of burnt skin and smoke caught his nose, and his eyes rolled at the back of his head, his other hand moved to grab his burning limb but it was no use. When Altaïr opened his eyes, his head felt as it was tearing itself in half, his vision was swimming and his chest was heavy, he felt immense pain in his gut as if he was being punched numerous times.

There was no mistaking it, Desmond died. The woman named Minerva warned him, Juno was released from the temple, but there was no other choice. Altaïr stayed on the bed and tried to catch his breath, he could hear his heart pounding in his ears and for a moment he was worried if he was going to die. Sweat clung to his skin, his body was still shaking and he couldn’t move an inch. The former master assassin stared at the ceiling, his eyes traced every crack, and twenty minutes later he calmed down.

Altaïr took a long bath, his hand gripping his other arm, he could still feel the pain. He wore clean clothes and left his house for a walk, it was dark and no one should be alone this late, but he had his knife with him and old as he seemed to be, he could still kill. The sun was almost up when he returned to his empty house.

‘Desmond sacrificed himself in exchange for the life of others. The apple didn’t show me what happened next, and that was the end of his story.’

Altaïr gripped the pen in his hand tightly, his brows were furrowed into a deep frown, and his lips formed into a thin line.

‘I didn’t like how his story ended, how he was created just to be a sacrifice, and he never had a choice in the first place. I know why the Apple showed me his life, since the first time I saw my own hands through his eyes. I was desperate for a distraction, I wanted to escape from the pain I caused on myself, and Desmond’s life was interesting.’

The pain faded away after a while, Altaïr would trace with his finger and imagine the familiar black symbols on his arm, he would stare at the mirror and wondered how Desmond got the scar on his face. Altaïr would stretch his body every morning just like Desmond would, and he now often took walks outside of his home. He didn’t feel hurt when he thought of Maria anymore, but he missed her and their youngest son. He didn’t wish for the Apple to show him who Desmond was before the templars took him, nor did he desired to, but he thought of it out of curiosity.

Days didn’t pass slowly as it was before, he woke up without a heavy feeling in his body, and he ate everything on his plate. Altaïr didn’t spend all of his time reading in his home, it became a part of his routine to go out and visit the village no matter how far it was. He thought Desmond would slowly slip out of his mind, and the former master assassin would spend the rest of his life living in peace with himself, but there wasn’t a day his descendant wouldn’t worm his way into his thoughts.

‘I kept wondering why it needed to be Desmond’s sacrifice. Was it because he was my descendant? If it was possible for me to be there, and if it was my hand that touched the pedestal, would it work the same way? Even knowing what was waiting for them and with enough time on their hands, nothing would change, Desmond still needed to die.’

His home was built far away from the village, there was nothing but large trees and wild animals surrounding him, but the loneliness no longer suffocated Altaïr. Darim and his wife would send letters time to time, and Altaïr was relieved and glad they forgave him of his actions when they were still living together, when he was drowning in regret and depression and threw his anger at them. He also started writing back and was happy for them, soon there were more letters piling on his table, from them and also his grandchildren.

‘A year has passed and my thoughts often lingered to Desmond, even without the Apple I can feel his presence, as if he never left and kept me company. I can still remember his voice, it was full of spirit and emotion, as well was the swell of happiness whenever he laughed at his friend’s words or his own.’

Altaïr’s hand paused from writing down on the paper, his eyes widened slightly at a realization.

‘I don’t know when it started, or when it changed into something more, or if I am still mourning for the death of my wife.’

He quickly crossed that out.

‘No, I am no longer mourning for Maria. I loved her, I still do and always will. In the end, I loved him too. It was inevitable, because just like her Desmond was interesting.’

The next day he wore his cloak and walked to the village. Some of the people Altaïr passed by recognized him and told him good morning, he smiled and greeted them back. He made his way to the market place, where he bought a bunch of papers and ink. Altaïr didn’t need to worry about running out of money, since Darim would always send him a large amount of it, and he was not one to spend all of it at once and it had been sitting in his home for quite some time. He also bought some books before he walked back to his home.

He placed his things on his table and took out the Apple. He still remembered the vision in his dream, he also remembered the promise he made to Malik all those years ago, about him taking responsibility of the order. Abbas may be the current master of the assassins, but he was not suited for one, and he would not let his brothers be led astray by Abbas any longer. Altaïr studied the apple once again, and he wrote down all of the information he knew. Designs, tactics, and medicines. The Apple had a lot to offer him.

‘While I studied the Apple, it showed me another vision. There is a fortress here in Alamut, what remains of a First Civilization Temple. I went in there and found a series of Memory seals, I took six of them with me. After I used one, an idea came to me.’

Altaïr leaned back slightly, he took a deep breath as satisfaction rolled over his body. He smiled and closed his eyes, the sound of Desmond’s laugh floated in his mind.

‘I can save him. I know I can.’

His heart beat loud in his chest, but it wasn’t from fear or shock, it was the possibility of gaining his wish. He studied the apple every week and made sure not one information slipped from him, a smile would form in his mouth whenever he imagined speaking to Desmond, and all the extra effort were worth doing it. The impossibility was slowly melting away inch by inch the more he knew, and more plans were made up in his mind. The apple glowed, as if it sensed Altaïr’s hope, and it kept giving him what he wanted. Little by little, there was progress.


End file.
